


let Qui-Gons be Qui-Gons

by haleofStilesheart



Series: Valentine's Day Fic Giveaway (2017) [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Puns, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Established Relationship, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Star Wars References, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10019645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: Derek had made reservations for them at the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in all of Beacon County over two months ago, reserving them a table for two in a private section. So, of course, the day of their reservation, Stiles gets hurt and ruins everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weirdnewbie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=weirdnewbie).



> For the prompt: I was thinking that maybe Derek got a reservation at this fancy shmancy restaurant but Stiles got a minor serious injury so instead they would stay at the loft and have a Star Wars marathon and Stiles would use cheesy Star Wars pickup line. I hope it's no too much... :)

Stiles couldn’t help but feel guilty. Reasonably, he knew it wasn’t his fault but he still felt responsible. He had ruined everything.

Derek had made reservations for them at the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in all of Beacon County over two months ago, reserving them a table for two in a private section. Stiles had never even been to Le Papillon before, beyond excited to dine at the same place his parents used to go for each and every one of their anniversaries.

Derek had been extremely excited too, in his own understated way, blushing a bit when he told Stiles about the reservations back in January. Stiles had taken to occasionally mentioning it in conversation just to see the way that his boyfriend’s face lit up with a bright smile stretching over his face.

He was so proud of himself, for his foresight of reserving them a table long before Valentine’s Day, for the romantic thought he had put into it, for the fact that for once he was using his ridiculous amount of money for something a little bit self-indulgent. And Stiles was equally proud of him, telling him as much at least once a day leading up to their Valentine’s Day reservation.

And then, the morning of their reservation, Stiles ruined it.

He had been practicing lacrosse with Isaac and Boyd when the accident happened, both of them volunteering to help him with his shooting after Scott texted him to announce he was busy going out to brunch with Allison. Everything had been going well, Stiles actually scoring a few times, though he had the sneaking suspicion that the two betas were holding back, when his foot got snagged in an unseen hole.

He had twisted his ankle, falling face first onto the lacrosse field, getting a mouthful of grass and dirt as he landed with a loud, heavy thud. Pain had instantly shot through his leg, his ankle throbbing as he tried to stand, only to tumble back down with a pained yelp.

Boyd had carried him back to the Jeep, carefully setting him down in the backseat with Isaac who took away some of the pain with a hand on Stiles’ arm while Boyd rifled around Stiles’ lacrosse bag for his car keys. Once he found them, letting out a triumphant grunt, he drove them all straight to Deaton’s, Stiles begging them not to take him to a hospital, unable to afford it.

Deaton had diagnosed him with a sprained ankle, giving him a few ibuprofen pills and setting him up with a temporary cast. He advised Stiles to stay off his feet for a few days at least before shooing them out of the vet clinic, needing to neuter a couple of dogs. Stiles really didn’t want to see that anyhow.

Boyd and Isaac had taken him to the loft at his own behest, both of them helping him up the ridiculous amount of stairs that led up to the loft. Reluctant as he was to tell Derek that he wouldn’t be able to go out to dinner that night, his leg still throbbing, he knew that it was best to just get it over with and hope Derek wasn’t too upset.

But Derek had just taken one look at the cast on Stiles’ ankle and rushed across the loft, asking a barrage of questions, one after the other, Stiles barely able to keep up with his words. He did his best to answer all of his questions, assuring Derek that he was perfectly alright, that it was just a sprained ankle, that he had just tripped while practicing lacrosse.

Hesitantly, he explained that it hurt like a bitch whenever he tried to put any weight on his injured ankle, that it just wasn’t reasonable for him to go out to dinner. He chewed his lip nervously while waiting for Derek to respond, worried that his boyfriend might not be too happy. He had put a lot of effort into planning their date after all.

To his relief, Derek had cupped his face in his hands and pressed a kiss to the center of his forehead, thumbs stroking over his smooth cheeks, tracing his moles. Lips brushing against Stiles’ skin, he had mumbled that all that really mattered was that Stiles was alright, curling his arms around his shoulders to reel him in for a tight hug.

Raising his head, Derek turned his attention to Boyd, inquiring if he and Erica would like to go out to dinner at Le Papillon later that night, offering them his and Stiles’ reservations. Slipping his wallet out of his back pocket, he handed Boyd his credit card, advising him to use the name Hale to get seated, recommending the triple chocolate cake for dessert.

Satisfied that Stiles was alright, essentially handing him over to Derek who lifted his boyfriend into his arms bridal style a moment later, Boyd and Isaac turned and strolled out of the loft with short waves, closing the heavy steel door behind themselves. With the betas gone, Derek carried Stiles across the loft to the spiral staircase, carting him up to his private bedroom like some barbarian dragging his conquest back to his cave.

After gently setting Stiles down on the bed, propping his injured ankle up with a few pillows, Derek moved to the other side of the room, to the large television mounted on the wall above his dresser. Running his fingers over the spines of the DVD cases he kept on top of the dresser while looking back over his shoulder at Stiles who was fiddling with the hem of his lacrosse hoodie, Derek inquired, “Star Wars marathon?”

Stiles just nodded eagerly.

During the opening credits of Episode IV, Stiles laid his head on Derek’s chest as they cuddled in bed, tracing his fingertips over the neckline of his boyfriend’s unbuttoned Henley. Biting his lip nervously, feeling chock-full of suffocating guilt, Stiles racked his brain for some way to lighten the mood a bit.

Inspiration struck during the garbage compactor scene, as if a light bulb had been illuminated in his head as the iconic protagonists bemoaned their seemingly inevitable deaths. Throwing his arm around Derek’s middle, he leaned back on his trustworthy wit and confidently announced, “Leia’s buns don’t have anything on yours.”

He punctuated his comment by squeezing Derek’s ass, startling a punched out laugh from the werewolf who swatted Stiles’ hand away with a smirk. Bumping his nose against Stiles’ temple, Derek teasingly admonished, “You’re such a nerd.”

He did it again when Luke blew up the Death Star using only the Force, rubbing his thumb over the hint of chest hair at Derek’s collar. Eyes fixed on the screen, Stiles casually asked, “Are you the Force? Because I’m attracted to you.”

He kept it up for the next three movies, intermittently chiming in with various Star Wars themed pickup lines, interrupting the action to pester Derek with little one liners that never failed to make him roll his eyes fondly. They were a little more than halfway through the Force Awakens when Derek finally turned to him and inquired, “What are you doing?”

“Umm… Flirting with you?” Stiles deadpanned, shrugging a nonchalant shoulder as he tried to avoid the question, embarrassed by his own antics. He just hoped that Derek would just drop it at that but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. This was Derek after all and his curiosity could rival Stiles’ own.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Derek laughed softly, running his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Stiles’ head. Tilting his head to look down his chest at Stiles, he wondered, “But why? Why right now? You usually snap at anyone who interrupts Star Wars. Is something bothering you? Something wrong?”

“I’m sorry I ruined Valentine’s Day,” Stiles admitted, pressing his cheek against Derek’s chest, curling his arm around him, his hand resting on the side of Derek’s shoulder. Hiding his face in his boyfriend’s shirt, Stiles very quietly muttered, “It’s our first one together and I ruined it.”

“Hey, you didn’t ruin anything,” Derek informed him, rubbing comforting circles into Stiles’ back, tempted to whine. Stiles raised his head, tilting it to the side as he furrowed his brow at Derek who continued on, claiming, “I mean it. You didn’t ruin anything. Just sitting here with you has been the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Stiles wondered in awe, his words barely audible as he blinked up at Derek. He raised himself up onto his elbows to better look at Derek, questioning, “Are you sure?”

"Of course. And even if you had I wouldn't really care because lucky for you, I happen to like stuck up, half-witted, scruffy looking nerf herders," Derek announced, leaning in to smack a kiss to Stiles' lips. He smirked as he pulled back, whispering, "And maybe if you're lucky, later you'll get the D2."

Stiles laughed so hard his sides hurt. He may have ruined everything but Derek sure as hell fixed it all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com/)!


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